The Man I Married

by Elena Wilkes

  Paul casually picked up the wine menu as he ate. ‘So, come on. Tell me about being in love, then.’

  I nearly choked on a bean. ‘What?’ I spluttered and managed to swallow. ‘What a provocative question.’ I arched an eyebrow.

  ‘No, seriously. I’m interested. Provocative questions are always the best. Go on. I promise I won’t tell anyone.’ He pulled a comic face.

  ‘I don’t quite know what you mean.’

  He put down his fork and took a slug of wine, smiling at me over the rim. ‘Yeah, you do,’ he pursed his lips. ‘You’re just being shy. By our age everyone’s been in love I think… I hope…’ He queried my look. ‘Come on, there’s always one. The one that changed your life.’ The glass wavered ‘Isn’t there?’

  ‘Um… I suppose,’ I said warily.

  ‘So what was his name?’ He took a long mouthful and savoured it.

  It was a question and a challenge I didn’t know how to get out of without making it a bigger deal than it needed to be.

  I licked my lips and then said the name.

  ‘Dan.’

  The clamour in the room rose and fell.

  ‘Ah. So. You were in love with him, were you?’

  I fussed with my food a little. I really didn’t want to talk about this. ‘No, not after I realised what he was.’

  Not only did I not want to talk about it, I didn’t want to think about it either.

  ‘What he was?’ he pressed.

  I gave him a look and put my fork down with a sigh. ‘I suppose I let myself get drawn in by him. He was very charming. Very plausible.’ I shrugged. ‘I had no reason to believe he was… well… already in a relationship… A married kind of relationship.’ I pulled a wry face. ‘Which is probably why I was so—’ I shrugged.

  Paul nodded, listlessly moving a very tasty-looking load of aubergine into a pile on his plate. It was almost as though he was thinking something but not saying it.

  ‘So what’s your love story?’ I smiled.

  There was the minutest pause. I watched as he sawed a piece in two with the edge of the tine.

  ‘Of course there’ve been women, I’ve even lived with some for a little while but none ended up being very serious. I’ve had one relationship that I thought might be a marriage-job, but it turned out not to be.’

  ‘This was when you were living in Hertfordshire, or when you were in London?’ I picked up a piece of toast and bit into it, inadvertently getting goat’s cheese on my nose. I felt myself instantly blush.

  Paul laughed and leaned forward with the tip of his serviette. ‘Here,’ he caught the offending blob. ‘Christ! You wouldn’t catch me living in Hertfordshire!’ he chuckled.

  ‘I thought that was where you grew up?’

  ‘Nooo – Bedfordshire. Bedford, in fact—’ he winced playfully. ‘Can you imagine what that kind of culturally impoverished childhood did to me?’

  ‘So where did Hertfordshire fit in then?’

  ‘It doesn’t. It didn’t. You must have misheard that bit.’ He sat back suddenly, discarding his fork with a clatter. ‘Shall we tick that topic off the list then?’ He sighed agitatedly. ‘I don’t know why I brought it up… I mean, partners, people from the past. The past, that past that all these psychologists bang on about endlessly. Who cares? I’m not the same person I was three years ago, ten years ago, even.’

  ‘So you’re not one of “those” psychologists, then?’ I teased.

  ‘Bloody hell, no. Boring bastards most of them: dead from the neck up and the waist down. The past is so tedious. They don’t live in the now. Which is the only thing I’m interested in, actually.’ He paused, his hands on the table edge. ‘You’re a very “now” person, aren’t you? Actually, you’re a funny, quirky, prickly mixture of very attractive things.’

  I was amused by the statement, but wary. ‘Am I?’

  ‘I think you know you are. I think that’s why you keep people at a distance.’

  ‘And you’re quite…’ I searched for the word. ‘… Challenging.’

  ‘Am I?’ He cocked his head quizzically, parroting me. ‘I told you before, just tell me to back off. I won’t be offended. Would you like me to back off?’

  ‘No.’ I smiled and looked down at the stem of my wine glass, twizzling it in my fingers.

  I could feel his eyes resting on the side of my face. I was self-conscious and ridiculously flattered all at the same time.

  ‘You present as someone who wants to be left alone, but I’m guessing the opposite is true.’

  I picked up my glass. ‘Thanks for that, Mr Psychology Man.’

  ‘That’ll be eighty-five pounds then, please.’

  I nearly choked. ‘Christ, you charge that an hour?’

  ‘Minute. Please!’

  I laughed and shook my head. He was a bit bonkers and very funny. I really liked him.

  ‘I know you’re going to keep testing me and pushing me away and pulling me in, I get that,’ he continued; his gaze flitted from my mouth to my eyes and back again. ‘But eventually you will work out that you and I are on the same side. I’m the kind of person who’ll have your back. No one will ever be more loyal, more faithful, more true to you than I am.’

  I didn’t know where to look.

  He smiled as he hopped off the stool. ‘Just popping to the Gents.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’

  I surreptitiously watched him making his way through the crowd. I really did like this guy. I liked the way his jacket hunched a little across his shoulders as he walked, I liked the way the hair lay in the nape of his neck. I remembered what his naked skin felt like. You’re being played like a fiddle, Lucy, my head warned me. So much of me was jeering at the idea I would fall for any of this. He was a psychologist, wasn’t he? He knew what to say and when to say it, but his full-on attention was attractive: exciting even. Why shouldn’t I enjoy a tiny bit of madness? Look where being straight had got me.

  The group in front of the bar had stopped talking and were all staring up. The picture of the little blonde child I’d seen earlier on Mum’s TV flashed up. There was a tickertape news bulletin running across the bottom of the screen with ‘Breaking news’ but I was too far away to read it.

  Paul came back and glanced across. ‘Oh yeah, that’s terrible. Someone’s snatched a child, apparently.’ He eased himself into the seat.

  ‘Oh god… really?’

  ‘A three-year-old, Cassie Edwards. This morning. They thought she’d wandered off, but now they don’t think so. She ran out down the path to get in the car, her mum was only minutes behind her with a baby. Somewhere in Halifax. A nice quiet street, a decent area. No one saw a thing and of course there were no cameras. One minute she was there by the car and the next minute she was gone.’ He picked up his glass.

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘I know. The police will be trawling through all the newly released paedophiles.’

  My thoughts immediately sprang to Gould. I stared at Paul.

  He stared right back. ‘When was our friend getting out?’ The glass stilled.

  ‘This morning.’

  He considered it for a moment and then dismissed the idea. ‘It’s unlikely that he would re-offend so soon. If he’s going to do something like that he’d want to get settled first, suss out his hunting territory, start networking with his known associates.’

  I knew all this but still the notion appalled me.

  ‘And anyway,’ he went on, ‘he’s being released to the London area isn’t he?’

  I nodded. ‘True. He’s unlikely to start re-offending round here. If he was thinking of it, he’d be better off where he could take a child and disappear easily. London makes it much easier. He’d know that. There’s more risk up here.’ I glanced at the TV. The news item had moved on to a giraffe being airlifted in a zoo somewhere.

  I looked back at Paul.

  ‘Jeeze! This bloody world,’ he said laughing and shaking his head. ‘Just be grateful we’re on the right side of all that
craziness.’ He raised his glass. I was immediately aware of the word ‘we’.

  I tentatively raised my own and he chinked the rim. ‘To us non-mad people,’ he grinned. There was a pause: did I like it? Was I flattered? I thought I might be.

  ‘To us,’ I repeated, sipping as I watched him through the glass distortion. He put his drink down slowly and then gently touched the back of my hand with one finger. ‘That was nice.’

  ‘What was?’

  ‘You used the term “us”. It was a really lovely thing to say.’

  * * *

  I saw Emma before she clocked me. She was standing outside the railway station holding the handle of her travel case and looking off into the distance. She looked a little sad and lost and I had an immediate pang of guilt.

  ‘That’s her there.’

  Paul pulled up and gave her a wave. She looked unsure for a moment, and then it dawned on her as I got out.

  ‘Hello, Emma!’ He leaned across the passenger seat and grinned up at her. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Paul.’

  ‘Very nice to meet you too, Paul.’ Emma shot me a look as I went round to the boot. ‘Maybe we’ll meet properly sometime,’ she gave me a questioning look.

  ‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’

  I pulled out my case. There was a very awkward moment where I leaned back into the car and kissed him.

  ‘Bye, then!’ He looked from her to me as I swung the door shut.

  ‘Bye.’ I raised a hand. I was aware of the car pulling away and felt instantly and inexplicably bereft. I smiled for Emma’s sake. ‘Good time shopping?’

  ‘Clearly not as good as seeing your mother.’

  I heard the jibe but she only laughed as we trundled our cases into the station.

  ‘So that’s the one you’re not seeing again, is it? And what were you telling me over breakfast? Psychologist, eh? I bet it’s not just your mind he’s been figuring out.’

  I instantly bristled but refused to be drawn. I peered up instead, pretending to concentrate on the Departures board as Emma wittered on about jeans and boots and how much she’d spent. ‘God, have you seen the news?’ she suddenly said, nodding over at a chap on a bench. He was reading a newspaper with Cassie Edwards’s photograph blazoned across the front page. She was smiling shyly; my heart contracted.

  ‘I know, I saw it on a TV report. It won’t be a good outcome, we know that… Come on, it’ll be over there on platform 2.’

  We started to climb the steps. ‘These people are everywhere you bloody go, aren’t they? And then we have to go and work with them too…’ She paused as she suddenly remembered her train of thought. ‘Oh, and talking about work—’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘Well, don’t think you’re going to sidetrack me off the ‘new man’ subject,’ she cocked an eyebrow. ‘First you hook up with some guy you insist is a one-off, then out of the blue you’re in his car getting a lift to the station. Honestly Luce, you change your mind as often as I hope you change your knickers,’ she grinned. ‘I think you’ve got some explaining to do, don’t you?’

  ‘Well, it—’

  But she interrupted. ‘I have to say he’s a weird-looking bloke.’ We reached the other platform. ‘He seems nice enough though… Good thing he’s in London… Oh, and talking of men in London…’ And that was it, she was off; my contrary love-life forgotten, it was all Connor, how lovely their short time together had been, how he’d appreciated the underwear she’d bought, then about the dinner he was supposed to take her to but they’d ended up just with room service… on and on. But I didn’t mind. I smiled and frowned and ‘Ooo’d’ and ‘Ahh’d’ in all the right places. I had the beginnings of my own little love interest going on. I’d joined the club, become part of the world that she inhabited, and that world looked different, smelled different, was different. I was different, that was the thing. Her prattling on left my mind free to wander. I hadn’t even thought about being with anyone for such a long time. Here was a man who was funny, attractive, attentive, caring… And single. What a plus point!… So what was my problem? I was interested and I was excited, all of which was brilliant, but at the same time I was really, really scared.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Did we agree Dave was going to see Gould today, or you?’ Viv paused as she passed my desk. ‘You said something in your email about it.’ She tapped her pen on a pile of papers.

  I looked up. ‘We said Dave. Why?’

  ‘Has he been in contact?’

  ‘Who, Gould? No, not that I’m aware of. What’s Dave said?’

  She closed her eyes briefly and then gave me a look. ‘Just ring Stoke Newington Police Station, would you? That’s where he was supposed to register. He’s still within his timeframe, but I think we should just check. If you do it Lucy, I know it’s done.’

  I picked up the phone and dialled the number, listening to the tone ringing out as I stared at my mobile lying on the desk. I had been waiting for Paul to ring and he hadn’t. I’d said nothing to Emma even when she asked this morning if I had heard from ‘The Love Machine’ while guffawing heartily.

  I gave her a withering look but she only grinned, wandering off singing some mad disco song and doing all the actions until Viv shouted at her to knock it off.

  ‘Stoke Newington Police Station, how can I help?’ a female voice said.

  ‘Ah. This is Lucy Skinner from Hackney Probation. I’m ringing about a newly released sex offender, Simon Gould. He was released from HMP Ravensmoor the day before yesterday to an address in Dalston. Can you confirm that he’s signed the sex offender register, please?’

  ‘Hello you! How you doin’ my lovely?’

  ‘Kath!’

  Kath and I had crossed paths several times. She definitely had no truck with offenders who messed around. There was a pause while she checked. ‘No, he hasn’t as yet. He’s got another twenty-four hours, just about,’ she added. ‘Don’t worry, lovely, He won’t get past me.’

  We chatted on a bit about life, being over-worked and how crap the spring weather had been, before I wandered over and gave Viv the information.

  ‘Hmm – right.’ She perused the ceiling for a moment. ‘Look, I know what you said in your email, and I probably agree, but how strongly do you feel about it?’

  I knew I was being softened up. I could guess what was coming.

  ‘Like, would you consider seeing him as a one-off?’ She squinted and put her head on one side coquettishly. ‘It would be a massive help to me if you would.’

  I rolled my eyes and sighed, grinning. ‘Fine… As a one-off.’

  ‘Deal,’ she grinned. ‘Dave had arranged to go this afternoon, but he really should be doing the prep work for this offender group he’s running and you know what he’s like: he’ll use it as an excuse to do a half-arsed job on both.’

  ‘No problem, I just didn’t want Gould thinking he can choose who he gets to see.’

  ‘Oh I think he knows you’ve got his number,’ Viv grinned. ‘Thanks, Lucy. Let me know if there are any problems.’

  Seeing Gould was probably one of the last things I wanted to do, but I went back and sat at my desk again and checked my mobile for missed calls for what seemed like the twentieth time since yesterday afternoon.

  Paul hadn’t been in touch. I had hoped he might, I wasn’t sure why. It nagged at me even though I knew I was being hyper-keen. Should I phone him?

  No, I wasn’t going to do that. He probably wasn’t even back yet. What was I stressing about? Jesus.

  I tried to carry on with the report I’d been writing. The tightly written words on the screen jumbled and blurred as I tried to concentrate. Idly clicking onto Google, I typed in ‘Paul Webb psychology’ and a whole stream of Paul Webb’s came up: a Professor Paul Webb at the University of Manchester Political Science department; a Paul Webb who was a Joiner and Carpenter; a Paul Webb Youth Worker on LinkedIn, but no senior psychologist with the Home Office. I had another idea. There was an internal system: Ho
me Office intranet, so I went through some of the old documents there: procedural information stuff, advice notices and so on – and then suddenly there he was: P. Webb, mentioned in an offender management briefing. His office address was listed, with a phone number. Avoiding Emma’s eagle eye and keeping my voice down, I casually dialled the number.

  The woman on the end of the line told me that ‘Dr Webb was in a meeting and could she take a message?’

  ‘Oh okay, thanks. I’ll ring again later.’ I glanced over at Emma but she was staring myopically at her computer screen. He was back, then. Should I start to be concerned that he hadn’t called me? Oh, for pity’s sake, Lucy! Butterflies tickled my belly as I typed the name into 192.com. I was only looking! What harm was in that? The NW3 postcode on the electoral roll told me I’d probably got the right P. Webb, but the address wasn’t listed.

  ‘Everything good?’

  I snapped up.

  ‘Sorry?’ I stared up into Emma’s smiling face, surreptitiously closing the page. She glanced behind her. ‘Are you at home tonight?’

  ‘Yes, why?’ I was behaving like a poxy teenager.

  She gave me a pointed look. ‘Got stuff to tell you. I’ll ring you later.’ The excitable eyebrows and the breathlessness said it all.

  ‘Oh right. Definitely. It’s a date.’ I winked conspiratorially and she wandered happily off. My grin fell. Connor. What else? Did I really want to hear the rollercoaster twists and turns?

  Tapping my biro agitatedly on my desk, I chucked it down. I really wished I hadn’t made that call to Paul’s office. I had to stop all this. Seriously, stop and chill out, I told myself. Think carefully about what you’re doing. You don’t actually work with the guy, but still… Things can get… Complicated. The memory of Dan stung for a moment. Just put the whole lot out of your mind.